Under the Lights
by downbythebay
Summary: [Friday Night Lights] From the point of veiw of a Pepette, a cheerleader, and a Majorette--Don Billingsley's little sister.
1. Who I Am

**A/N:** Hi guys here's chapter one of my FNL story. First of all Tim needs to make more movies, and second, I already know this is a stupid idea, so lets not get into that.

**FYI:** Who I Am is a Jessica Andrews song.

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Chapter I: Who I Am

My name is Emma Jean Billingsley, and I live in Odessa. This little town doesn't have much, but we do have the most winningest football team in all of Texas, the Odessa Permian Panthers, and that's something to be proud of. I have dark copper hair, and blue eyes. I'm not fat, but I can tell you I'm no beanpole either. I'm fifteen (sixteen September first,) and a junior at Permian. My brother, Don, is on our football team, tailback. He isn't very good though, but he tries. At least I think he tries—he doesn't really seem all that upset when he loses the ball—but I don't have a lot of room to talk.

You see, I'm the co-captain of the Majorettes. We dance at pep rallies and at the half-time show of the football games. I'm not the best, but I'm a dancer: tap, ballet, jazz, pointe; nevertheless, I'm not all that into the Majorettes. Come to think of it, I'm not all that into the whole "Mojo spirit" thing, but I've got to show my support somehow, and, because my brother's on the football team, shaking my ass at half-time seemed to be the way to go. I've always got a ride to the games.

Don is my half-brother from Okalahoma; apparently my dad had a flooring company up there a few years before I was born. I don't know why it surprised me when Don showed up at our house with his mom. I was eleven years old, and I suppose all little girls want to see the best in their daddies.

Don was really into football, so I suppose Mojo was calling to him. He moved in with us his sophomore year. I thought that was great—my first year of high school I was going to have a big brother on the football team to look out for me. Yea...right. If you haven't ever had a big brother, they can be a big pain in the butt.

I was talking about my dad. I hate to admit it, but he has a bit of a drinking problem. He's lost three marriages to it, including my mom, but they didn't end in divorce. The three of us were on our way home from a party—that probably had something to do with football—my dad was driving. He had one too many drinks, and we hit—something. I was two years old in my car seat in the back, I was fine, my dad broke his arm, but my mom wasn't so luck.

Like I said, I was only two years old, and she really wasn't a big part of my life. I know that she loved me. Sometimes I wish I had a mom though—a real mom, not like the woman sitting with my dad and meat the first day of Permian Panthers practice. That's not my mom, that's Flippy; I don't know _where_ she came from.

Back to the Panthers, right, I wouldn't be talking to you if it weren't for them. Let's see who I can remember.

I guess I'd have to start with Boobie Miles—running back—the team all star. Most of the time I just try not to think about how he got a nickname like Boobie…and why that's okay with him, his teachers, Coach Gaines, his friends, and his beloved uncle L.V. It's not that I don't like the guy—that is one good-looking black boy—not that it's unusual for black guys to look good, that's just not really what I'm usually into—oh, God, I'm starting to sound like a real racist pig, aren't I. I'm really, really sorry. The thing about Boobie is he just seems so full of himself.

Then there's my personal favorite, our quarter back, Mike Winchell. Now, I sorta, kinda have this huge crush on him, and I'm not even sure why. He's not the best looking guy on the team, (after he was voted Mr. PHS, I'd actually have to say that was my brother—yuck!) he's not always the greatest player (he tends to choke under pressure,) and he never seems to smile. But I tutored him in English for a few months last year, when he needed some help with his research paper the teacher asked me to give him some extra help, and he's a pretty decent student, a smart kid. He was always so nice to me, even though some of the more popular students like to make fun of me because I'm more bookish. I guess that's just the long way of saying, I really like him a lot.

My shameless crush aside, the next would be Brian Chavez. We have a few classes together. You know those really smart people at every high school that you want to hate, because they shame everyone with their enormous brain power, but you can't because they're just so nice. That's Chavo. He's one of the lucky ones getting out of here on smarts. Football is just a game to him, if he stinks at it and our season goes down the drain things will still work out for him. He's applying to Harvard, and everyone knows he's getting in, probably on a few scholarships. One last thing about him, I suspect he's got, like, multiple personalities or something. On the football field he'll break your legs, but he'll buy you lunch afterwards. In the halls, after class he's the nicest guy. We'll talk about Shakespeare, and our calculus homework, but I would not want to be on the receiving end of one of his tackles.

Ivory Christian is on defense too. He's a pretty big guy, and sometimes I think he only plays football so he can hit some people. His nickname is Preacher. Apparently he had some kind of crisis of faith a while back, and had this total revelation about the direction he wanted his life to go. He decided to spread the word of God...and hit people, because football was his key to an education. When he's not on the pulpit, he doesn't talk much.

I remember Chris Comer, third string running back, Wilson's backup. He's in my grade; a pretty nice guy, a little unsure of himself. I think he's afraid to get hit. Sometimes his girlfriend gets fed up with him.

We've got a great team this year. Already cars and shopping centers are decked out with the slogan: "Going to State in '88." But that means we'll be facing our rivals from Midland Lee, and the monsters from over in Dallas Carter. There's no way those guys are seventeen.

Back to practice, it's been about five minutes, which means it's about time for—yep, here comes the ball, it's on its way to my brother…and there goes the ball, another black fumble on Donnie's record.

"You sure he's part of your gene pool, Charlie," a father shot over at my dad. _'Oh crap,' _I thought to myself as my dad got up and stormed down the bleachers.

"Red Alert, Red Alert," some of the other bystanders started to chant insensitively as Flippy and I hurried up to follow him onto the field. We both knew the snit my dad and Don were in was about to get very physical, and fast—in front of everyone.

My dad was seriously ticked off. One of the assistant coaches, my friend Nina's dad, was talking to Don and my dad called him over. Dad started yelling about how he couldn't hold onto the ball. One of the other players—Brian I think—got between them, trying to explain it was only their first day. Dad pushed past him and threw Donnie onto the ground.

"Dad, stop!" I urged, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged me away and yanked Don to his feet so he could push him down again. Flippy and I both started yelling at him to knock it off, apparently dad thought we meant Donnie's helmet, because gave him a nice punch in the face.

"Charlie," Flippy yelped.

"You're embarrassing me out here," Dad shot back at Don as Flippy finally pulled them apart, and took my dad off the field.

They left after that, but I stayed behind, I'd have to get a ride with Donnie and Brian. I liked to listen to Coach Gaines's speeches. I think it's funny when he tries to get these guys to get all emotional about playing football.

By then most of the crowds that had turned out to examine this year's team had dispersed. The after practice there was this press conference, with camera crews and reporters from the local news shows and paper talking to the players. After that I waited outside the locker room for my brother.

Brian, Ivory, Mike, my brother, and I decided to stop to get something to eat at David's. It was already dark by the time we sat down with our food. Mike ordered something for his mom; I thought that was real sweet of him. Then Donnie threw a fit because he had to pay for my cheeseburger, so David said it was on the house—nice guy that David.

I was stealing some of Chavo's fries, and we were talking about _Huck Finn _when it occurred to me to ask a question that had been burning on my mind a while.

"Hey, does anybody know anything about that reporter guy who's been hanging around town?" I asked. Remember, this is a small town and if you don't belong, everyone knows it.

"My dad said he was doing research for a book on football or something," Chavo said. A book I thought to myself. Why would you write a book about football? You should just go to a game. Donnie went to pour something alcoholic into Mike's drink, but he waved my brother off.

"Live a little," my brother told him. Mike just shook his head.

"And he's not going out tonight either," Chavo put in.

"You're going out," Donnie told him. "And you're going to get laid if I have anything to say about it." I felt my whole body get real tense, (and I think Brian noticed, too,) at the mention of Mike Winchell "getting laid"...by someone other than me...on our wedding night. A girl can dream can't she! Then something happened to lighten the mood, however briefly. This really loud car pulled up along the carport.

"Billingsley! Billingsley!" The man in the passenger's seat yelled over to us. I know I probably shouldn't have turned, but it's my last name, too, you know. "Party at Taylor's house, Billingsley, you better be there! You're gonna get wasted! Party at Taylor's house! Billingsley!" I'm not quite sure what that last '_Billingsley!_' was for.

"Isn't that guy, like, thirty-five?" Chavo asked and we all laughed. Then David came back with Mike's carry-out order.

"Mike, here's your mom's food," he said.

"How much?" Mike asked. David shook his head.

"No, no. It's on the house." He answered. "How's she doing, by the way?"

"Hey David, you never give me free food," my brother interrupted like an idiot.

"I just gave you free food," the man reminded Don.

"Oh yea," he began sarcastically. "Oh yea, I forgot about that."

"Stay out of jail, Billingsley," David suggested as he walked away.

"You're not going home," my brother turned back to Mike. Mike shook his head taking another bite of his burger.

"I'm not goin' 'round, drunk foolin'," Mike answered with his heavy accent. I nodded in approval.

"How 'bout I bring your mom some dinner," Donnie went on. "That way you can come out with us. Because were gonna get laid, and we're gonna get drunk, and we're gonna win state, but not tonight. Alright?" My brother got up to toss his trash away and Chavo turned to Mike.

"You've been blessed, Mike," he told him. "'Cause we've got a runner, and he's gonna make us all look good. So I'm telling you to lighten up, because all you've got to do is exist in the two seconds between snap, and you giving Boobie the ball. SO lighten up."

"Mike!" Now this sleazy looking guy with his thickset wife with too much eyeliner, and a pretty little girl in overalls that looked nothing like either of them came over. "How you doin'?"

"Hey Brian," Mike answered as they shook hands. I shook my head, great another Brian.

"How's old Gaines been treating you?" The man asked. "Got you all perfect?"

"Getting there," Mike answered.

"Alright, how's your mama?" The Man went on.

"Fine, sir," Mike answered.

"You mind if we get a quick shot, real quick, with the kid?" The man asked.

"Shot?" Mike asked. I flashed back to the beautiful baby contest we had last year in history class. We all had to bring in our baby pictures. Mike said the only picture he could find of him as a baby was of this sad little boy clutching a stuffed pony with big fat tears rolling down his face. Mike said he had never seen a camera before, and he thought it was a gun.

"Yea a little picture with the kid?" the man went on brining me out of my daze.

"Sure," Mike answered getting up.

"Let's get a picture of my baby and the next Texas state championship quarterback," the man said handing over the little girl. "Where's the damn camera," the man snapped at his wife.

"Winchell boy, you remember every minute of this, I'm telling you right now. You're seventeen, but it goes fast. Don't sleep, and don't waste a second of it. 'Cause before you know it, it's done," he snapped his finger. "Nothing but babies and memories, ya hear me. Babies and memories," he aimed the camera at them. I almost laughed when I realized Mike and the little girl had the same smileless expression. "Smile sweetheart, say 'Mojo' say 'Mojo'."

He snapped another smileless baby picture.

"Tell you what," he went on. "Why don't you hold onto her for a while? Baby-sit her for a couple of hours. We're gonna go get a drink, be back in a little while." And then they started to walk away. Mike looked at the girl, then at her parents, and then he actually looked at me for help. Then the man doubled back.

"Just kidding with ya," he said reaching for the baby. "Come here sweetie. Let's go back to momma." He handed the woman the baby and shook hands with Mike.

"Hey. Bring it home," the man went on flashing his championship ring. "Bring one of these home. Get you one of these. Christian, boys." He looked at me, opened his mouth and walked away. Mike sat back down as I got up with Chavo and my brother to head over to Taylor's place. Behind me I heard Mike say:

"You want to go to that party? Just for a little bit?"


	2. Seventeen

**A/N:** Sorry about the wait guys, and this one's kinda short.

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Chapter II: Seventeen

We pulled up to the house, and within five minutes Chavo was making out with God knows who, and my brother was doing something incredibly stupid—like drinking mass amounts of beer through a funnel and a hose. The music was terrible; of course I'm only into Johnny Cash and the Boss. I stepped out onto the patio to try and get away from it, no such luck. I was hoping I'd eventually bump into my friend Sherry. She's a cheerleader with an attitude problem, so she usually ends up at parties like this.

I could see Mike and Ivory on the other side of the patio. This girl, Melissa—Sherry can't hold a candle to her—came out and started talking with Mike and Ivory…or rather talking with Mike and to Ivory. Seeing her with him started to make my stomach turn, so I went inside to get a drink or something.

I passed Chris Comer in the stair well with his girlfriend. She was up in his face yelling something like, "Don't you 'But Baby, Boobie' me." I shook my head with a slight laugh, passing the dance floor on my way to the kitchen.

I got myself an iced tea then realized I really needed to use the bathroom. I went down the hall to in time to see Melissa slip out of the powder room, so I ducked right in after her and wound up facing a half-dressed Mike Winchell.

At first my brain was going, "Oh la, la' as I stared wide-eyed. The in started to click what Melissa was doing in here with him. Then I just got mad. I looked up at him and he looked back at me in surprise. I could feel my face burning with embarrassment. For myself and for him, and then I just said the first thing that came to my mind:

"You **_slut!_**" By then my brain had stopped working and it was just my feet storming away. I bumped right into Sherry.

"Hey baby, what's up?" She asked me. I shook my head.

"I don't feel so good," I told her. "Could you give me a ride home?'

"Sure sweetie, what's the matter?" She asked. I looked back at the bathroom in time for Mike to come out, fully dressed now.

"Mike Winchell?" Sherry asked. "What about him?" She passed. "You like him." She gave me a look, like I were crazy. "Personally I wouldn't go with him for all the money in the world."

"Why not?" I asked.

"That boy ain't right in the head," she told me.

"You shouldn't talk about people that way," I reminded her. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

"I'm only talking to you, honey," Sherry told me. "Come on let's get you home."


	3. Satuday Night

**A/N:** I guess you've all waited long enough for this one. Well, here it is.

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Chapter III: Saturday Night

"Thanks Sherry," I said as she parked the car just in front of my driveway and got out. I headed inside, deliberately tuning out the noises coming from my dad's bedroom as I hung my jacket over one of the kitchen chairs and headed into my room. I undressed in the dark, and pulled on my cotton night gown and climbed into my bed.

Coming into my room, often gave the allusion of entering another home. I tried to keep everything tidy and clean. The walls were still the pale blue-lavender of my young girlhood, and there was a flowery quilt laid across my bed. There were a few porcelain dolls my mother collected, arranged on a shelf above my dresser, and some stuffed animals resting on my bed.

I snuggled close to my favorite teddy and eventually settled into sleep.

It was a few hours later, I suppose, when I awoke to a loud crash coming from the living room. I probably should have just stayed in bed, but I wanted to go see what was wrong, so I peaked out of my bedroom door and peered into the living room where Donnie and...some—shirtless—girl were making out on the couch.

She had knocked the lamp over and they were laughing and moaning and kissing, until they noticed Dad, leaning against the wall watching them. Kinda creepy. Sometimes I wish the men in my family could just keep their shirts on.

"Dad can you just go back to bed, please?" Donnie asked.

"Who's this?" Dad pressed, as the girl tried to inconspicuously pull her shirt back on.

"Melissa," Don answered, I cringed.

"Maria," the girl corrected him. I rolled my eyes. 'Brilliant, Donnie,' I mused to myself. 'Simply brilliant.'

"How you doing Maria?" Dad started. "Damn girl, you've grown up." See the creepiness I was talking about?

"Dad please, can you just go back to bed," Donnie continued. I think he's become aware of the creepiness too.

"Hey ya'll what's going on?" Flippy asked coming into the room. Whoo Hoo! Now it's a party...(note the dry sarcasm.)

"Hey Flippy," Maria started up, like they were old friends...hell, they probably took same cosmetology classes in High School.

"Hi Maria," Flippy replied, as if this were some sort of standard social gathering.

"What happened to my lamp?" Dad demanded. Leave it to dad, to catch his son "getting laid" in the living room, and bringing up a lamp. I suppose that makes me the moral mouth piece of this family.

"I dropped it," Don answered. 'Well actually...' I found myself correcting him mentally. Dad scoffed:

"Can't hold onto the lamp, can't hold onto the football."

"I can hold onto the football, Dad, now get the hell out of here!" Don screamed. No, not yell, hoot, hollered...he screamed. Dad was not amused.

"You can hold onto the football?" He started, as he dug through a door. "When did you hold onto the football? Did you hold onto the football today? How 'bout yesterday?" Football and duct tape in hand he cornered Donnie, just a few feet from by hiding place.

"Will you hold onto the football tomorrow? How 'bout now?" He asked, thrusting the football into Don's arms. "Can you hold onto the football now? Maybe this'll help." He spat, and proceeded to tape the football to Don's hands and started punching it.

Flippy and Maria were screaming and trying to pull him off, Donnie was shouting helplessly. You know what that means. Time for the Peace Maker to step in. You know who that is? Yup, that's me.

"Dad!" I yelled, coming out of my room entirely. "Dad, that's enough!" I finally caught his attention. "Go back to bed, daddy." I instructed. "Go back to bed, okay." After some finessing I finally got him to calm down and head back to his room. Flippy showed Maria to the door, and I silently untaped Donnie.

"I can take care of myself dammit," he declared as soon as I had him freed and he skulked off to bed. I sighed heavily before following suite.


	4. It's a Love Thing

**A/N:** Hey guys, sorry it's been such a long time...I had most of this one locked away, so I just tied it up with a little bow at the end and here it is!

Chapter IV: It's a Love Thing

The next morning Chavo picked Don and I up, and we headed over to the high school. They had weight training and I had Majorette practice. But first we stopped at a 7-11 for some breakfast.

The boys grabbed burritos out of the hot-foods counter and I went to grab a donut.

"Shouldn't you be on a diet or something?" Don shot at me. I cringed. I hate it when he did that. Made cracks about my weight, just because I don't look like the size zero jeans he usually dates.

I opted for a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels instead. We paid and sat out in Brian's car, eating. I almost got sick, watching Don go back and forth between a carton of chocolate milk and his burrito.

We were only sitting there a few moments when the cop car pulled up beside us. He turned off his car, unbuckled his seatbelt, and just sat there. I got chills, just like I did every time I saw some old man still wearing his Championship ring.

"You boys alright?" He asked. What the hell!

"Yes sir," Donnie and Chavo answered in turn, mouths still full.

"You gonna win state?" The officer pressed, another inspired round of:

"Yes sir." Dang, there's that sarcasm again...

"Undefeated?" The officer continued. And what do you know, there was Donnie:

"Yes sir."

When we finally got to school, the boys headed to the weight room, and I met the rest of the Majorettes, in our own personal practice area, right on the other side of the room.

"You better have a stellar routine for us this year," my fellow captain, Mindy, shot as I entered the room. "Cause that's the only reason you made the team."

"Yea, yea," I waved her off. "But let's warm up first." I put on some music and led stretches, and half watched the boys lifting weights.

Boobie was going through all the letters he had received from colleges, asking Chavo about the real "hard words." Man, there I go again.

He started talking to Mike about Billy Cosby, and at that point I sort of spaced out. Lord, that Mike Winchell has some nice, big arms on him. I was practically drooling. That was until I heard Boobie chimed in:

"...And you're gonna smile or I'm gonna stick about four pudding pops up your white ass." And then Mike laughed, and I melted. What a smile...sweeter for the waiting, I guess.

We did a set of about five-hundred crunches, and all the girls were moaning and complaining.

"Earth to Emma," Mindy chimed in. "Are you going to show us the routine or what? I'd like to get this over with so we can draw names."

I groaned. Every year the Pepettes and the Majorettes, and a lot of the cheerleaders picked one of the football players' names out of a hat, and the girl was supposed to make him a sign, and give him food on game days and all that cheerful crap. It was the schools way of giving the football players their own personal servants.

I popped the cassette I lifted from Donnie's room into our small stereo and waited for the song to start.

"The beginning is going to be in three parts," I explained as the first beats were played. "We're going to have three groups, all doing the same thing in three different counts of eight." I caught the last set of eight and showed them the chassé fan-kick with shampoo arms I wanted.

The beat picked up and I went straight into the hip roll, and then to the rest of the 40 counts I had in my head. By the time I was done, I had most of the football team's attention as well.

I managed to teach them all the beginning, before a bunch of the Pepettes and cheerleaders showed up and we all just couldn't wait to choose our players for this season.

I found Sherry, and tried to stay close to her as I stretched out to cool down. Then, much to my surprise, my friend Nina came in. She was a small girl, with olive skin, bobbed hair, and pretty, blue eyes.

"Hey, Nina," I called to her. "What are you doing here?" She rolled her eyes.

"My father's forced me to enlist in the spirit-army," She groaned. I might have mentioned, but her father is one of the assistant football coaches. Sherry and I grimaced for her.

"You don't know the half of it," she continued. "I've got to help make them a spaghetti dinner this Friday."

"We'll help you out," I offered and Sherry nodded in agreement.

By that time the hat had come around to us. Mindy held it out to me, and I indifferently pulled a piece of paper out and unfolded it.

"I got my brother," I declared.

"That's not fair," one girl, Karen, spoke up vehemently. "She can't get her brother!" Well, we all know that SHE doesn't have a crush on Don. Darn it, I just can't stop can I...

"Put it back," Mindy ordered. I dropped Don's name back in and selected another piece of paper. I opened it and felt my heart skip a beat.

"Mike Winchell." A few relieved sighs went through the room, I shrugged, more quarterback for me.

Nina was next, "Chris Comer." She announced, and we all laughed as we saw Chris perk up from across the room, look at Nina and cringe. Then came Sherry.

"Brian Chavez," she started up with, what I guess she thought was a sultry Brazilian accent. "The hot Latino boy," she continued, unbuttoning her shirt, doing this strange shimmy-shake.

I laughed, rolling my eyes, "Put your clothes back on," I ordered. We laughed as she fixed herself. I sighed.

"I'd better go wait for Don," I explained. "Or they'll leave me again."

"See you Monday, Sweetie," Sherry called to me as I headed out to the parking lot. I stood, waiting by Chavo's car, to catch a ride over to the school, for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before the boys started flooding out of the locker room.

"Hi Emma Jean," I spun around quickly in surprise, hearing someone call my name. Now, you can imagine what was going through my head when I saw that it was none other than Mike Winchell.

"Hi Mike," I answered cautiously,.

"I'm sorry about what happened the other night," he went on nervously.

"Why do you feel like you need to apologize to me?" I asked. He sort of shrugged.

"I don't know," he replied. "I just feel like I owe it to you."

"Well, thanks," I replied sweetly. "But it was really none of my business in the first place...In fact, I think I should probably be apologizing to you." Mike looked down, a hint of a toothless smile ghosting his features.

"Naw, you're alright," he offered, rubbing his hands together uneasily. "Look...uh...I was just wondering, if you—uh—if you didn't have other plans...you know, if you would—uh—if you would want to be my, you know, my date—to the pep rally." My eyes went wide. I couldn't believe my ears.

Being Mike's date to the pep rally may not have seemed like a big thing—after all, it essentially entailed sitting besides him during the various displays of school spirit at the assembly that afternoon, and that was it. But it was the idea of being Mike's date to the pep rally that had stars in my eyes. It meant I'd be wearing his jacket. It meant he'd carry my books. It meant I'd be wearing his ring. It meant that I was Mike's girl.

"I'm sorry I asked," he started up, misinterpreting my silence. "It was stupid of me." He moved to walk away, but I grabbed his arm.

"Mike, no," I interceded. "No...it wasn't stupid of you, not even a little bit. I'd love to be your date to the pep rally." Mike smiled broadly, a smile just for me.

"Would you like to walk to class with me?" He asked, offering me his arm.

"It would be my pleasure," I accepted his arm with a broad smile. And then Mike did something I'll never forget. He leaned over and gave me this quick peck on the cheek, and although there wasn't a mirror in sight the whole walk over to the school I could tell I was glowing.


End file.
